The day he left will be remembered...

The day he left will be remembered,
That rainy, foggy, nasty day.
She was so scared, she lightly trembled
Just like she still does, does today.
He was so young, so immature,
But still got stolen by the war.
She knew, believed and cried at nights
Millions of tears, how many more?
She hoped and prayed, she ripped the letters
Which didn’t mention his dear name.
She’d find a thousand million matters
But their purpose was the same.
She tried imagining him there,
Where human lives are like ice cream –
They melt, but no one seems to care
And victory is just a dream.
She tried to think about the summer –
He will come back, he will, he must,
But all she thought of were the trenches,
The blood, the hunger and the dust.
She understood that he could stay there
Dead, but alive in her poor heart,
She understood, but wouldn’t bear,
It was too painful, was too hard.
She lived with hope, she lost the days
Until the Saturday of March.
She opened envelope and fainted:
‘We’re sorry, Madam, but he died…’
Where is the hope? Where is the spark
That kept her alive through all these years?
It’s gone, it’s vanished, now there’s just dark
Which kills her, washing heart with tears.
The time has driven her insane
She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep,
She waits for him; she’s lost her lane,
And all she still can do is weep.

People don’t care any more
About the sun, about the peace.
Oh why should blood on battlefields
Be washed away by mothers’ tears?